


Scars

by DarkspawnHorror



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Dragon Age Reverse Big Bang, Mentions of past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:27:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkspawnHorror/pseuds/DarkspawnHorror
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My contribution to the Reverse Dragon Age Big Bang.  Musings on the scars of our heroes with an emphasis on Anders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

"There is something beautiful about all scars of whatever nature. A scar means the hurt is over, the wound is closed and healed, done with."  
~Harry Crews  
  
Everyone has their scars.  They can be scars of the body, scars on the mind, scars on heart.  In any case, they are reminders of pain that has passed.  A battle wound healed over, but looking at it you can remember the pain searing through your flesh.  A nightmare embedded in your mind- fear not forgotton.  A heart broken, the love remembered but it never makes it hurt less.  Scars are your body's way to become stronger.  It finds a way to heal over so you can be better prepared to deal with the injury the next time.  
  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________  
  
Tonight was the night. He had removed the grate from the window and it was just wide enough to pull himself through.  It was difficult manuvering from one of the top floors of the tower down toward the small patch of earth.  There were limited footholds to use and by the time he reached the ground, he was drenched in sweat and filled with fear from nearly losing his footing several times.  He could hear gentle splashes against the tiny shoreline and the creak of wood from the docks around the curve of the tower.  He inched his way away from the docks, knowing without a doubt that there were at least two templars stationed.    
  
Anders removed his robes -- they would only weigh him down -- and stood shivering in his cotton smalls.  He strapped his staff to his back before easing himself into the frigid waters, abandoning his robes completely and shoving them in a nook before covering it with handfulls of dirt.  Digging up enough soil to cover the garment was difficult with his hands alone, and the cold seemed to have solidified the earth more than he would have liked.  He bit back a whimper as he immersed himself in the cold lake and began moving slowly through the water, careful not to make any noise to attract the attention of the templars stationed at the docks.  He could feel the chill seep into his core, but he continued at a slow pace until he felt he was a comfortable distance from the tower to start tearing through the water.  It was nearly an hour before he met with the shoreline of Lake Calenhad, though with the cold of the water, it felt like an eterninty.  
  
The sun was just creeping over the horizon when he dragged himself out of the water.  His fingers and toes had long since gone numb, but he couldn't stop now - he wasn't home free yet.  He shook off as much water as he could and removed the cotton undergarments before wringing them the best he could and placing them back on his body with a slight shiver.  He was so cold, but he couldn't stop now.  There was no time for a fire, the templars would surely catch up quickly if he stopped now.  He hoped that no one had realized he was gone yet.    
  
He carefully stumbled over the rocky shore, his cotton slippers making an unpleasant squish with every step.  He resecured his staff as he continued moving forward. And off into a patch of trees.  His shoes were definitely not intended for this terrain; he could feel every root and twig through the thin leather soles -- a pain that was accompanied by that unpleasant numbing feeling lingering in his toes.    
  
Dont think about it, he scolded himself.  Freedom was so close.  
  
He knew as soon as he made it to the outskirts of the nearest village, he would never reach freedom.  He could hear the clank of the armor, almost feel their metal grip around his arms already.  How they had caught up to him already, he did not know.  Even with his phylactory, they couldn't have come this far already unless they were trailing him from the begining.  Someone saw him leaving.  
  
He didn't have time to think about who might have seen him so late in the night.  He tore off back through the woods; he would have to wait for the next village before he could obtain clothing and supply himself.  He ran with that goal in mind, so very focused on that goal.  He ignored all pain, all protest from his body that he needed to stop - that his slippers had falled off and his feet were bloodied and blistered, his arms and legs were cut and bruised from knocking into low branches and underbrush.  He ignored the numbness that spread through his lower body until his legs gave out completely.  He grabbed at the nearest tree, succeeding in only tearing the flesh of his shoulder against the rough bark.  He couldn't bring himself to stand again, barely managing the twitch of a finger or toe and eventually lost conciousness on the cold forest floor.  
  
­­­­­­­­­­___________________________________________________________________________________  
  
  
He awoke, his entire body aflame.  He hissed at the intensity, the stinging in every one of his limbs.  His arms were stretched over his head as he hung from a chain, barely reaching the floor with the tips of his toes.  He groaned, desperately trying to reach the floor to relieve some of the ache in his arms, but to no avail.  He could not manage enough pressure on his toes to accomplish everything.  He could feel his connection to the Fade blocked.  Magebane.  He strugged against his bonds.  
  
"Six times, Anders," he heard someone hiss.  "When will you stop trying?"  
  
"You'll-" he coughed, choking on his own voice and lack of moisture in his mouth.  "Till I die."  
  
"You almost accomplished that." The man spat back.  Anders couldn't see the man as he approached from behind.  The voice was not familiar, but the familiar sound of the templar armor told him all he needed to know.  "What do you have to say for yourself?"  
  
Anders grinned in defiance, though the pain he was experiencing was nearly unbearable.  "Sorry, won't do it again?" he choked out with a forced chuckle.  
  
Whatever response Anders had been expecting, it didn't prepare him for the snap of leather against his back, leaving a red hot weeping wound in its wake.  He screamed and it echoed through the chamber.  Looking back on it, the chamber must have been located in the lower levels of the tower and even then, there must have been runes in place to dull the sound of his screaming.  
  
"I'll ask again, what do you have to say for yourself?" the templar demanded.  
  
"I just wanted out!"  Anders insisted.  He could feel his blood dripping down his back, mingling with the sweat of his fear.    
  
He could hear the man pace behind him.  "Now, why would you do that?"  The man lashed out again and Anders screamed.  "Everything is provided here," he paused,  and with another wave of his arm, the leather sliced through the mage's back once more.  "Education.  Nurishment," another crack of the whip.  "Safety."  
  
Anders laughed, wincing through the pain of the wounded flesh stretching as he did so.  "I hardly call this safe."  
  
"You will hold your tongue, mage," the man hissed.  "Before I remove it from your skull."  He prodded at the other man's back with the handle of his whip and Anders yelped at the contact.  "They told me you were trouble, but you were easy enough to catch.  Perhaps some time alone would help you to reflect."  The way he said the final word sent a shiver down the man's spine.  Anders heard him shift and slam the door behind him.  
  
  
_____________________________________________________________________  
  
  
It always hurt a little when she found he was no longer in bed with her, the momentary panic of his absence causing her to bolt upright.  He liked to wander the estate in the morning, take care of bodily needs and the like before she rose, or just find a few moments of peace alone.  Hawke knew this, but it didn't keep her from having that pang deep in her gut.    
  
She tossed away the bedclothes and pulled on her robe, tying the heavy material around the middle with a luxurious cord.  She felt guilty, living in such luxury while her fellow mages were suffering.  She did little enough for Anders' cause, but he would allow her to do no more.  She knew he'd been planning something -- more often, he'd be holed up in the clinic or commendeering her study to work, insisting to be undisturbed.  This night had been the first in weeks they had shared any time together.  The fact that he wouldn't share with her hurt more than his absence.    
  
She found him just outside her bedroom door, towel wrapped around his waist and leaning on the windowsill.  He was obviously just out of the bath, hair dripping, rivulets running down his back.  She traced over the puckered scars there with her eyes, and then gently wrapped her arms around his waist before giving the rather angry looking tissue on his shoulderblade a soft kiss.    
  
"Hawke," he said, startled.  He placed a hand gently over hers as they crossed over his stomach while leaning on the sill with his other arm.  
  
"Good morning, Anders."  
  
He gave a little hum in his throat in response.  Hawke feathered light kisses over the scars until a tight grip on her wrist signaled her to stop.  Of course, she knew where they came from, even if he never said anything.  She asked on numerous occasions, but all he could say was, "Perhaps another time."  That hurt, too.  She tried so hard to get close to him, to get him to open up and share his pain with her, but nothing ever came of it.  Just an empty bed come morning.  
  
"Anders?"  
  
He let out a deep sigh and opened his mouth to say something, but only shook his head.  Anders stood upright, taking both of her hands in his.  He pulled her hands up to his face, fingering the bandages on one of her wirsts, and she had to step closer to allow the movement, now completely flush with his back.  He kissed each palm tenderly before placing her hands over his heart.  
  
"I'm sorry, Hawke," he mumbled.  
  
She flashed a grin he could not see before kissing his shoulder.  "What have you to be sorry for, love?"  
  
He just shook his head and continued pressing her hands to him.  After a few moments, he began to rub circles on the backs and across her fingers with his thumbs.  He was debating telling her, she could practically see the gears moving in his head.  Hawke stayed silent and unmoving, molding herself to his form and relaxing into the heat he was emitting from his bath.  
  
"We need to get you a proper robe," she teased.  "Not that I'm complaining about your current state of dress, but one day you'll give the servants an eyeful."  He forced a chuckle.  "Anders?"  she asked again.  "Please talk to me.  I know there's something on your mind."  
  
He nodded and took a breath.  "You are. . . wonderful, Hawke.  Kind, loving, beautiful.  I thank the Maker every day that you are here and not within the Circle."  He paused.  "Things are only getting worse for them, Hawke."  
  
"I know, Anders.  And you know I am here and willing to-"  
  
"No, you shouldn't get involved."  He turned in her arms and buried his face in her neck.  "If they found you -- if they took you -- I could never forgive myself."  
  
"I can't let you do this alone," she protested.  "I would rather get caught with you.  I could not bear being without you."  
  
She could feel him smile against her shoulder.  "Ten years, a hundred years from now, someone like me will love someone like you, and there will be no templars to tear them apart."  
  
"We're not being torn apart, Anders.  If we were, you'd best believe I would be holding on with everything I have.  But I have a feeling you were'nt speaking of us." Hawke relaxed into his arms.  "We will fight for them, Anders. I will always stand beside you.  My father, sister, brother, mother. . . they were all taken from me.  I will not let you go, not without a fight.  I will not let them go either."  
  
"This is not your fight, Hawke," he mumbled against her.    
  
She shoved him away suddenly and he had to react fast to keep his towel from slipping to the floor.  "Am I not a mage?"  she snapped at him.  "I may not have been raised in the Circle, but I spent my entire life hiding from Templars, hiding my magic, protecting my sister so we wouldn't - You know what, it doesn't even matter.  I've tried, Anders.  I've tried so hard to be your friend.  I've supported you, I've tried to help you, I've always been here for you and you still won't let me in.  I'm done trying.  If you decide you want help, I'll be here."  
  
"Hawke-"  
  
"I'm going back to sleep."  
  
Anders made a noise in the back of his throat before persuing her.  "Hawke, please-"  
  
"I don't want-"  
  
"And I don't want to fight with you, Hawke.  Marian."  He snaked an arm around her waist from behind, using the other to keep the cloth around his waist.  "You know I love you."  
  
She tried to pull away from his embrace, but he tightened his hold.  "If you loved me, you would share things with me.  I'm tired of being in the dark, Anders."  
  
"I know, sweetheart.  I. . . I'm not good with this, Hawke.  There was only ever one person I ever confided in. . .and I killed him with my own hands."    
  
Silence fell between them and Hawke struggled to turn to face him.  She cupped his face in her hand, brushing his cheek with her fingertips, recognition registering on her own face.  "Karl?  The man you intended to meet in the Chantry?"  Anders nodded and grasped the arm held to his face gently.  He caressed her arm, relishing in the silken feel of her skin as the sleeve of her robe draped to her elbow.  "Anders-"  
  
"He was the only one I got close with.  I knew him, back at Kinlock.  If it weren't for him, the scars would be much worse.  He- he was always there," Anders stuttered.  He kept his eyes closed and held to her arm as if it were his lifeline.  "I wasn't very obedient.  I made many attempts to escape.  I stole items from the store room to aid in escapes, I was always out of bed past curfew.  There were many indescretions to be punished for.  Karl was always there to pick up the pieces.  Except," he coughed, choking back tears, "My last attempt to escape, I was caught, naturally.  And they were less forgiving.  I was dosed with magebane before they whipped me.  It wasn't anything new, I had a few lashes before.  But this. . . it went on for an eternity.  I woke on the floor of a cell in one of the lower levels of the tower."  
  
"You said. . .I thought Karl-"  
  
"He did, but not until much later."  He placed another kiss on her palm before cupping her much smaller hand between his.  "I couldn't move from my place on the floor.  My entire body, every nerve was on fire.  It was certain they had dosed me with more magebane, I could feel it, taunting me in my veins.  I couldn't even get enough strength to stand and relieve myself.  It was hours before anyone came.  A templar, sent with my evening meal.  I heard him drop the tray and run off.  Minutes later, Karl was there, shouting orders and rolling me on the side to get me out of my own mess.  He healed me, but too much time had passed. There was no way to prevent the scars."  
  
"Thank goodness that Templar found you."  
  
Anders nodded.  "He was a newer recruit.  He's since climbed the ranks here in Kirkwall."  
  
The realization was clear on her face.  "He's. . . that's why you always disappear when we meet with the Knight Captain?"  
  
Again, he nodded.  "He was once sympathetic to mages.  Even loved one.  Once."  He paused and shook his head.  "Things happen in the Circle, Hawke.  If anyone found you out because of me, I just couldn't.  I can't have you hurt.  They won't scar you, too."  
  
"Everyone has their scars, Anders," she insisted.  
  
"The Warden Commander said that to me once.  She said that some scars cut into the flesh, but most are embedded in your heart."  
  
"Even though I haven't been part of the Circle, it doesn't mean I'm not already scarred by them," Hawke insisted.  
  
"You know, the attempt before my last, the night I recieved these scars," he said after several moments.  "They weren't even looking for me when they found me."  
  
"Who were they looking for?"    
  
"There was another attempt that night to escape the Tower.  How much do you know about the Hero of Ferelden?" he asked her suddenly.  
  
"Not much," Hawke admitted.  "We are somewhat related.  My second cousin, whatever that means. She defeated the Archdemon.  I know you were under her command in Amaranthine."  
  
"We were at Kinloch Hold together.  We were both talented healers, studied together often.  I didn't think much of her then.  Her friend, Jowan, he escaped the Tower that night.  He was a blood mage, and he harmed many in his escape attempt.  Solona. . . she knew of Jowan's plan.  She told the First Enchanter and under his instruction, aided her friend so they could prove the initiate he was escaping with was at fault along with him.  They wanted to show that the Chantry was corrupt.  I didn't know all this till years later.  After my year of isolation, I noticed she was no longer within the tower.  I had assumed she was the one who escaped that night, the reason I was caught.  I was so upset. I said some terrible things to her after she conscripted me.  She saved my life and I was horrible to her."  
  
Hawke studied him for several minutes.  "Did you care for her?" she asked.  The jealousy was clear on her face.  
  
"You mean, did I love her?  At one point in time, maybe," he admitted.  "Eventually, she told me what happened that night at the tower.  She was prepared to die for assisting the blood mage - she told me it would have been preferable to what the templars would have done to her.  She said. . . it would have been worth it to be rid of the memory of what they had already done to her."  
  
"Was she. . . did she get punished like you did?" Hawke asked hesitantly.  
  
"Everyone knows what they do to the girls, though no one ever speaks of it.  Solona, she was never a beauty in the traditional sense.  A little heavier with a large nose and a strong jawline.  She was quiet and very absorbed in her studies.  It was a wonder anyone took any interest in her at all.  Apparently, it only made her easy prey.  She told me the scars they gave her on the inside were more painful than looking at the ones on her face."  
  
"Her face?"  
  
"The Wardens' party had traveled to the city of Haven, journeyed through the ruins and caverns, and passed through all of the Gauntlet's challenges.  The sacred ashes had been retrieved to revive the ill arl and they were making their way back down to the caverns when a dragon swept down upon them," he explained.  "There were only four of them, including Solona's faithful mabari.  Alistair, now the king of Fereldan, the Wilder Witch Morrigan, herself, and the hound.  Alistair did his best to take the physical attacks in place of the two women, but he was becoming quite injured and Solona could barely keep up healing him.  She took the axe she had crudely attached to her staff and began physically attacking the beast. . .just as it was about to send the king aflame.  The attack hit her hard.  The remaining team struggled to bring the beast down, but by the time they did and made it to the rendevouz point with the rest of their party. . .there's only so much poultices can do."  
  
"She obviously survived.  And you had been taken with her after that, when you were conscripted.  It couldn't have been that bad," Hawke said with a chuckle.  
  
Anders shook his head.  "It gets a little better over time, but there is only so much healing you can do to scar tissue.  Her left eye. . . her eyes were both hazel at one point.  Her left eye is nearly white.  She says she can still see through it, but the images are very distorted.  During certain functions, she would wear an eyepatch or a mask to cover that side of her face.  The burns covered her left side.  She showed me all of them once.  They ran from her scalp to the edge of her ribs, over her left shoulder.  Her hair had once been long, at least to her knees - though she never let it down in the tower.  It gave them leverage over you if there was more to hold on to.  It nearly all had to be cut, it was singed so badly.  When she had woken after the incident and first saw what had happened, she was afraid her lover would never be able to look at her again."  
  
"Did he?"  
  
"He ended up leaving her for different reasons," Anders stated bluntly.  "They stayed together for some time after that.  When it came down to it, he couldn't be with a mage."  
  
Hawke narrowed her eyes, fury causing her normally vibrant blue eyes to darken.  "That's outrageous!  He can't do that!"  
  
"He's the King of Fereldan.  He can do whatever he likes."  
  
She stepped away from him for a moment.  "If he's the King, the he can.  If he loved her-"  
  
"She often said that if he really loved her, he would have let her believe she was too ugly to love rather than let their love die for simply being blessed with the gift of the Maker.  She told me that was the worst pain, knowing you could never be considered a person if you were a mage.  She said she would take the scars all over her body, recieve that pain tenfold, over knowing she would never be a real person in society's eyes."  Anders looked back toward the window.  "Physical pain is such a strange thing, Hawke.  You feel it and it heals, but the wounds caused. . . by the templars or your lover. . .remembering the hurtful things they did to you, they can be the worst pain."  
  
"Fenris said. . . his memories are more painful than his markings," she said quietly.  "I can see the pain the marks cause him.  Its clear on his face.  I can't believe- I think I've figured out how his markings were created.  I don't believe his memories were lost during the process.  I think he was wiped beforehand to keep him compliant."  
  
Anders grunted.  "You always start talking about him."  
  
She nodded.  "I know you don't like it, considering our history, but since we're on the topic.  Just. . . people hurt people.  It doesn't always have to be templars and mages.  There are other people hurting.  We have two completely different worlds.  The Imperium. . . the mages hold the power.  Here, the Chantry controls the mages.  There needs to be balance."  
  
"That has nothing to do with the elf," he replied sternly.  
  
"Fenris was abused just as mages are here."  
  
"So?  He volunteered for the process, Hawke.  You heard his sister."  
  
"I don't think he had a choice.  He exchanged himself for his family's freedom."  
  
"And look where it got him!" he snapped back.    
  
She flashed a glance at him.  "Don't take that tone with me.  Fenris is our friend.  The cause should include him as well.  At least serve as a reminder that not all mages can control themselves.  Not all mages are like us, Anders.  While I agree you're-"  
  
"Now you're not going to help me?" he spat.  
  
She sighed. "No, love, listen to me.  I am here to support you, to help you.  I agree that the Circle needs to be revised.  Mages need education, just like regular citizens.  They shouldn't have to fear those who are there to protect them.  They shouldn't be cut off from society.  They shouldn't have to turn to blood magic out of fear.  Those outside the Circle. . . they turn to blood magic for power.  They need control, too."  
  
"So. . . you're saying. . . you want an even broader spectrum to the cause?"  
  
Hawke nodded.  "Its been something I've been thinking about for some time.  I just wish you would let me in!  I just wanted to be a part of this.  I don't want to hide anymore."  He nodded back to her.  "As I was saying about Fenris' brands.  I have an idea.  I know. . . I know it's painful.  But I think I know how they were created.  And I think it can help us."  
  
He shot her a puzzled look.  "What do you mean?"  
  
"Think about it.  He literally enters the Fade when he uses his phasing abilities.  Imagine, with enough control, being able to go into the Fade to remove a demon from someone.  Imagine having constant access to lyrium, lyrium that never dissapates from your system.  We could have the power to change things, Anders.  Not just power, but the ability to change how mages interact with the Fade in the physical sense."  
  
Anders shook his head.  "Some mages would just abuse the power.  It would scare people more than it would help the cause."  
  
"But. . . what if it could send Justice back?"  
  
"I'm not talking about this anymore, Hawke."  
  
"I. . .I understand," she said with a sigh.  "I. . . I did figure it out though.  How the lyrium was put in his flesh."  
  
"Hawke?"  
  
She removed the binding on her wrist.  He had originally shrugged it off, assuming it was there for an injury or to hide the ugly scar she had there.  "I told you how Carver sliced me when we were younger?  When he first began using his sword?"  
  
Anders nodded.  
  
He looked at the scar, turning her hand over for a better look.  "You. . . you put lyrium inside your scar?  Hawke you're -"  
  
"Crazy, I know.  But Anders - "  
  
"That was stupid, Hawke.  You didn't know what would happen."  He pressed his lips to the raised flesh and he could feel the lyrium thrum under her skin.  
  
"Nothing happened.  It was really painful though."  
  
"Hawke-"  
  
"Sometimes scars can be used for a foundation, Anders.  They aren't cracks or injurys anymore.  Your body decides the wounded area was a weak point and reinforces it.  It becomes stronger than it once was.  We become stronger."  
  
"Then I must be a mighty warrior," he said with a chuckle, pulling her closer to him once again.    
  
"You are strong, Anders.  You survived.  And you're an amazing person because of it." She smiled warmly up at him.  "But even strong warriors need help sometimes."  Her smile softened.  "Will you let me help you?"  
  
He only nodded in reply, pressing another kiss to her wrist.  "Don't do this again," he whispered.  "You should have- you shouldn't have done this.  What if something happened? What if you lost your memories like Fenris?  What if the lyri-"  
  
"Anders, I'm fine. I won't do it again.  But now we know how.  Now, that's enough of this.  Come back to bed."  
  
It was a request he had difficulty declining.  He followed her back into her bedchamber -- their bedchamber -- and closed the door behind him with a soft click.  Too often he had chosen the solitude of his clinic or her borrowed study over her bed and warm embrace.  He draped the towel over a piece of furniture before crawling into bed next to the slender woman.  "Hawke," he whispered before moving in to pepper kisses down her neck.  "Tell me you love me."  
  
"Always and forever," she whispered back.  She traced her fingertips over the raised ridges on his back and he shuddered each time the touch dropped off the edge.  The scars were less sensitive, but it seemed to make the rest of his skin that much more responsive to her touch.  She smiled at him as he leaned over her, his nude form against her robed body.  "I will always love you," she cemented, kissing the mark peeking over his shoulder.  "Every smile, every frown, every accomplishment and failure, every experience and every scar.  I love all of you."  
  
"Including Justice?"  
  
She chuckled.  "He's a part of you, isn't he?  If it weren't for him. . . you would most likely still be in Amaranthine, with the Wardens.  I am very grateful.  If it were not for him, I would not have met you."  
  
"I am glad."  He kissed along her jaw and she continued her path on his back.    
  
"The first night you showed me your scars willingly. . . I felt like you were sharing something terribly important with me. . ." she confessed.  "Our first night together, you were so adament on keeping your shirt on, I was expecting a horrible deformity.  Or-" she burst into giggles.  "I thought you might have had. . . boobs or something.  But the next time, when you showed me, I felt like you were trusting me with something."  
  
"I've been trusting you with everything since the first time you walked into my clinic."  
  
"Not necessarily everything," she countered.  
  
"I'm trying, Hawke.  It's hard when everyone you know has hurt you.  I don't want that."  
  
She kissed him.  "I don't intend on hurting you, Anders.  Well, not unless we've decided to play rough."  She laughed.  
  
He gave a dark chuckle.  "You are a wicked, wicked woman, my Hawke.  I love you."  
  
"And I love you."


End file.
